


Exchange Rates

by phantomreviewer



Series: A Thousand Shards Of Pottery [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, museum!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time that Grantaire (hungover) meets Enjolras (soaking wet), such a meeting goes about as well as can be expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchange Rates

It is raining. The sound of it is bouncing through the corrugated tin roof and straight into Grantaire’s brain. He wants quiet. He wants not to be this hung-over at work. He wants to be at home in his bed right now. But most of all what it wants is for the persistence driving rain to stop and for him to have a little peace.

No one visits on days like these. When the rain is hammering so hard that it feels like you’ll drown if you step outside and you’re cold down to the roots of your hair, no one goes to museums on days like those.

That, of course, is when the alarm over the door chimes and Grantaire lazily raises his head from where it had been resting over his crossed arms.

He knows that he looks like a state, hardly the consummate professional and people person that his CV had espoused him as being. But there were benefits to returning to the place that you’d volunteered for as a kid, complete with a degree in Classical Studies and asking nicely whether there was any possibility of him working full time. But Grantaire is not fit for work today. He’d wanted to call in sick, but he was down as the only person on shift, and he could hardly leave the museum unmanned, on the off chance that idiots like this would pick today of all days to visit. 

Grantaire’s eyes are bloodshot and his hair is wild, but the man at the doorway doesn’t even look his way.

After a few moments of the visitor deliberately not looking towards the sales desk Grantaire sits up, frowning. The man is still fiddling with his mobile phone.

He looks half frozen and his fingers are taking several attempts to connect with the desired buttons if his frown is anything to go by.

“Excuse me mate.”

He looks towards Grantaire, and Grantaire is momentarily distracted from both the pounding rain and his growing annoyance by following a rain drop down the man’s highly chiselled cheek and down his jaw line. 

Grantaire can appreciate beautiful men, and if they happen to be sopping wet then that’s only a good thing in his opinion.

“Look, I know it’s raining out there, but you can’t just stay in here, there’s a charge you know.”

He tries to sound authoritative, it’s a tone that works on small children and elderly ladies, but his voice shakes just enough for the man to roll his eyes and look back to his phone. As though Grantaire isn’t even worth his time.

“I’m only going to be a moment.”

Grantaire straightens up in his chair and instinctively reaches towards the rolls of tickets.

“This isn’t a charity you know, if you want to stay in here then you have to pay.”

Something in his tone has apparently struck a chord with the soaking man, as in three strides he is shaking rain water onto Grantaire’s display as he makes a show of removing his wallet and placing the exact change down in a puddle on the desk.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything as he rips the ticket off its roll and hands it over to the man. It’s taken from his fingers with the hiss of breath between teeth and then the visitor is shoving the ticket into the back pocket of his jeans and continues to huff over his mobile.

After putting the damp change into the till Grantaire can’t help but stare at the man with incredulous eyes. He’s bighting his lip and his forehead is creased up into a frown, and he doesn’t look away from his mobile. He doesn’t spare once glance for the museum, or for Grantaire.

Grantaire doesn’t know how long he continues staring, but eventually the rhythmic pounding of the rain permeates back into his hangover and he shakes his head, curling flying manically trying to get rid of the noise.

The man still doesn’t look up, even when Grantaire groans and covers his eyes with his hands.

“Aren’t you even going to look around?”

The man turns to face Grantaire again, cocking his head slightly to the side, as though wondering why Grantaire is daring to address him, but Grantaire keeps his gaze abet through his fingers.

“Ancient history isn’t really my thing.”

Rolling his eyes Grantaire sits up, clasping his hands in front of him in mockery to librarians and teachers everywhere.

“Then why did you come in?”

The man tsks and shakes his head, looking away from Grantaire and casting his eyes around the tiny museum, as though seeing it for the first time.

“As you so astutely realised, I was sheltering from the rain. I didn’t even realise that there was a museum until just now.”

Now Grantaire has managed to engage the man in conversation he doesn’t want to let him retreat back into his phone. If he’s not going to pay to examine the villa remains then he’s sure as hell going to keep Grantaire entertained. The man is the first person that he’s spoken to today, and despite appearances Grantaire doesn’t like to be lonely, although he often is.

“Not from round here are you?”

Grantaire is almost amused at the tightening of the man’s hand around his mobile, his knuckles going white, and he so obviously doesn’t want to be talking to Grantaire. This fact alone inspires the troublemaker within Grantaire, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to find out every little thing about the man in front of him. He grins.

“I’m at the university.”

Grantaire’s eyebrows rise, because the man certainly doesn’t look like a student. Even rain soaked and angry he looks like he has already inspired sonnets and climbed mountains.

“Third year.”

Grantaire’s questioning gaze is answered, and the man seems to realise that he’s willingly volunteered information and frowns again.

Grantaire can’t help but smile harder.

“Studying?”

He can see that he’s annoying the man before him, and yet he can’t help but to keep pushing. Perseverance, it’s a quality of his; it’s even written on his CV. 

“History.”

And Grantaire has to laugh at that, and it surprises him when the laugh is honest as opposed to ironic. 

“Well, shouldn’t you look around then?”

The man is just opening his mouth to respond when the phone in his hand rings, and he looks away from Grantaire and raises the phone to his ear.

“Yes. Oh really? Of course, I’ll be right there” and then he pulls the phone away from his mouth and turns back to face Grantaire, “I’m afraid I have to leave, so sorry to have intruded on your sleep. Good day.”

And with that the man pushes out of the door, still animatedly talking on the phone, and he disappears into the rain.

The smile has ceased up on Grantaire face, and he returns the frown to the closing door.

The rain is still beating down on the roof of the tin shack which makes up the small shelter and Grantaire stands, heading into the back office to make himself a cup of coffee. All the joy that he has found in baiting the sopping wet man at the door has dissipated into his headache. He just wants this day to be over.

He’s sipping the coffee -so hot that it burns the roof of his mouth and so strong that’s its practically black- walking around the empty museum when he sees it.

Lying, by the door there is what looks like a small slip of cardboard. He can’t quite work out what it could be, but sighing Grantaire walks over and bends down to pick it up. Dealing with litter is always one of the highlights of the job. He’s realises that it must have belonged to the man from earlier just as he takes note of what it was.

It’s a University Library Card, bedecked in brightly coloured logos and an embarrassing photo. The man looks even more attractive when he’s smiling- not scowling, and Grantaire just has to flip the plastic over in his hands to learn his name.

Enjolras.

It’s peculiar, but Grantaire knows everything about having a peculiar name, and it suits him.

The rain is fading, and Grantaire pockets the small slip of plastic.

It had been raining very hard. And it wasn’t like Grantaire himself hadn’t taken shelter in shops in weather like this. 

Even in his anger Enjolras had made Grantaire smile.

The rest of the day passes slowly, hangover still biting at Grantaire’s head despite the coffee and the growing silence of the rain.

By the time that Grantaire should be closing up for the day there have been a few more damp guests, enough that the clean-up is going to take the full half hour and that he’s going to actually have to balance the books once he locks up.

The rain has stopped and Grantaire is just about to get up and bring the “Now Open” sign in from outside when the door sings out that horrible out of tune note and Enjolras steps back into the room, attention on Grantaire from the moment that he made eye contact with him.

He’s speaking before Grantaire can fully register that he’s even come in, the door obnoxious tune is still fading.

“I’d like to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I have no excuse for being rude, but I was very cold and my friends managed to complicate our relationship with our landlord that I had to settle. But, never mind that. I was very impolite and I’m sorry for that.”

Enjolras hasn’t broken eye contact with him and Grantaire still has a pencil shoved behind his ear from when he’d given instructions to an elderly gentleman as to how to get to the nearest station.

He tears it away furiously, unsure as to why he feels it matters at all.

Enjolras is extending a hand towards him now, and Grantaire, almost in a daze reciprocates. The contact is warm, solid and consistent under Grantaire’s fingers.

“Enjolras.”

And, because Grantaire can’t help but put his foot quite firmly in his mouth he replies without thinking.

“Yes. I know, I’ve got your library badge.”

He’s dropping Enjolras’ hand and bringing his own to his forehead to rub between his eyes when he hears Enjolras’ breathless chuckle, and looks back up at him.

“Ah yes, I had hoped it would be here. Thank you. Erm?”

And so Grantaire does the only thing that could possibly make the situation better, he pokes at the badge on his chest grinning inanely and then reaches into his back pocket to retrieve Enjolras’ library card.

“Grantaire, call me R, everyone does.”

Enjolras plucks his card back from Grantaire’s fingers, and fixes it firmly in his wallet, before shoving that back into his bag.

He’s smiling again, and the memory of the grouchy wet student from earlier in the day is almost eradicated from Grantaire’s mind.

“So R, if I wouldn’t be intruding do you mind informing me of why I’m so wrong to dismiss antiquity?”

And Grantaire really wants to sit down and talk to this boy, whose damp hair is blond and tousled, and who apologised so prettily, but he’s tired, running on fumes and still has to clear the villa, do the day sheet and lock up before he can leave.

“I’m really sorry, but we’re closing up now.”

And Enjolras actually looks disappointed, as though he is being personally victimised by their closing time.

“But,” Grantaire continues before he can stop himself, the words tumbling out of him before he’s thought them through, “well, you said you’re at the university right? If you’re coming this way tomorrow I’m on shift again and would be happy to tell you more then, I’ll even carry your ticket over until tomorrow.”

Enjolras nods faintly, smiles again at Grantaire and then leaves.

He comes back the next day and the sun is shining dimly through the open door.

**Author's Note:**

> If it isn't incredibly obvious from the rate that I keep mentioning it, where I used to work did indeed have an incredibly annoying door chime that went off every time the door was opened (or closed!) and if it annoyed me sober, I can't think what it would have done to Grantaire hungover...


End file.
